Drabbles
by ereganto-tatsu-namida
Summary: A series of RENT drabbles that I write when I get bored. Mostly tragedyangstdrama, so enjoy!rated t for language
1. Mark's Demise

**Ereganto**: Okay there...uhm...yeah...this is my first ever fic here, so I hope that I do RENT some justice. I know that there are some hardcore Roger/Mark shippers out there, but I'm not real big on writing the whole big gay scene (I am not anti-gay...some of my best friends are gay)...however, I love writing Angel and Collins, but that's because it's so easy to imagine Angel as a girl! Anyways...I'm ranting...my point is there won't be any Mark/Roger love and there will be very little Maureen/Joanne love. I must say that I love Mark and Joanne together. My best friend's mom even said that they should get together! Lol...so, nobody hate me because I hate nobody. I just...don't feel comfortable writing about Mark/Roger, especially considering Roger has Mimi. So...please don't hate me or my drabbles...thank you?

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"Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to _survive!_" 

That one statement, that one thing yelled at me in a rare moment of anger, is a mockery of its original meaning. It haunts me, my every waking moment, my dreams, my life. He was wrong, so positively, horribly wrong, and it makes me laugh. A horrid, bitter, dry laugh. The Mark Cohen I knew had rarely ever been wrong before. But he was now and it pisses me off.

Survive. What the hell does that apply to? Nothing survives a considerable amount of time. People die daily after living a few meager years of working. Animals don't survive because the human race kills them all to fucking feed themselves for the last time. Everything dies, nothing survives. Hell, even cities fucking die-just look at Tent City.

'One of us...'that's another bitter laugh. 'Us?' What 'us?' Collins and Mimi are dead, gone with Angel. Maureen left for LA with some guy and his twin sister, leaving a depressed Joanne behind. Last I knew, she was living in Boston. She moved there after getting a promotion and promising me she'd keep in touch. She calls every once in a while and pays for my AZT. I'm the only one left after he fucking stuck his nose where it didn't belong for fucking Alexi Darling-who thought the gang wars belonged on Buzzline. Damn her and her story to hell. Now he's a fucking vegetable in some hospital.

Yeah, he's still alive, but not. He hasn't moved on his own in 18 months because some shit faced gangster put one in his fucking head. Surviving? Hell, not the way he meant, but he's still here. Mark's surviving, but he'll never fucking know it.

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A/N: sooo...how was my first drabble?? Yes, it's narrarated by Roger. Hope it's good...and I'm looking foreward to reviews!!! 


	2. Joanne's Tale

Ereganto: Okay, my second lil input. Just so ya'll know, none of these are related...I'll let you know if and when they are...so, yeah. Thanx to my one, lone reviewer...I greatly appreciated it! Happy New Year, and good luck to everybody in 2007 (hah...007, year of the BOND!!! bwahaha!)

Okay, so, this is my Joanne drabble/one shot...depends on how you want to decipher which is which.

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I walked in the door of my apartment one mild New York evening, thinking how lucky I was to have a beautiful girl on such a beautiful night. I whistled a short tune as I made my way to the living room to drop off my briefcase, heels clicking on the wooden floor. My whistling came to an abrupt end as I entered that (the living) room and stumbled upon a devastating sight. 

There, on my white pleather couch, was some man with his hand up _my_ Maureen's shirt and his tounge halfway down her throat. My briefcase thudded to the floor and the two swiftly broke apart.

"Pookie! I wasn't expecting you home so soon," she said with an apologetic grin. I turned and walked out, stunned that i had just caught my girlfriend cheating on me with some guy that she'd probably met at a bar last week. I went back out the front door, one hand on my forehead, ignoring Maureen's calls as i reentered the bust streets of the city. I had no idea where I was going, nor did i care. I was still shocked, but anger was slowly setting in.

"Joanne? What are you doing out here? Where's-" a certain blond haired, blue eyed, Jewish film maker broke me out of my thoughts. My head jerked up as he spoke, and for some reason, I couldn't stop the tears that welled up in my eyes. "Oh no. She-?" Mark half asked, and I nodded as i bit my lower lip. He understood perfectly. He smiled sympathetically and ushered me into the rundown building he, Roger, and Mimi called 'home.'

"I...I caught her with some guy on my sofa," I stammered as a lone tear fell down my cheek. Mark led me up the stairs, into the loft-where he removed my jacket for me wordlessly-and sat me down on the duct taped couch while he went to make some tea. I put my head in my hands and elbows on my knees as I tried to compose myself, but the feeling of betrayal and hurt was so strong more tears began to fall. I wasn't even aware of Mark's return until he sat next to me and placed a hand on my back in a comforting gesture. His blue eyes were full of painful understanding and a hint of sympathy drowned out by something else.

"Why?" I choked out, desperate for an answer from my lovers' ex. He shrugged silently with a ghost of a smile before sighing. His hand withdrew and his brows furrowed above his black frames in thought.

"Maybe...maybe it's because she's scared. The only thing Mo's ever committed to anything in her entire life is her acting. Or, maybe she feels that, since people have an 'expiration date' so to speak, she should get everything out of her life that she can. Jo, there are hundreds of reasons, but I think that if she can't see what she's risking to lose and how beautiful it is, then it's her loss. If she can't realize that you were probably the best thing that happened to her-and us-then she doesn't deserve you," he replied softly, his big blue eyes meeting mine again. I noticed his ears were slightly pink and I smiled a watery smile.

"Thank you, Mark," I whispered as I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him, which I'm pretty sure shocked both of us, and buried my face in his shoulder. "Thank you for understanding," I whispered and his arms slowly wrapped around me as I finally began to cry.

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Ereganto: ta da? I hope that you all enjoyed it...it was fun to write...kind of... 

I can just see Maureen doing something like this, and Joanne go running to the loft where Mark comforts her because he's been through it all before, so...yeah. Now all that's left is you pushing that pretty violet button over there...that one...the one that says 'GO.' I know you want to!!!!


	3. Looking Back on April

To have seen her like that and call it a shock was an understatement. It was downright unbelievable. He had just seen and talked to her hours before and she had been fine. Smiling for the first time in weeks, which, looking back on it now, could have been one of the indicators. When questioned about her wellbeing, she merely laughed and waved it off as if it were an annoying fly. The young woman went about her business that day with a vigor that had been lacking in the previous weeks, ever since she had gotten the news about…her condition. She swept and scrubbed with fervor, making things shine in a new way, as if they'd not have to be cleaned ever again.

This thought makes him laugh at the irony. Those things were never cleaned again by her hands, so maybe that's why she scrubbed so hard that day. But now, ever since another _(a replacement??) _moved in, the things shone daily. It was strange to look around and see things that were so normal but not simply because they were clean all the time. There wasn't anymore of that 'comfortable layer of life,' as she had so dubbed the dust. But they were both gone. The dust wiped away by a cloth. The last vestiges of her life wiped away with a sponge and bleach. Her life was wiped away by a cold razor blade. _No, _he corrected himself. Her _body_ was pronounced dead in the tub. Her _soul_ had died the day she had gotten those test results back.


	4. Apologies

"Joanne?"

The voice swam up from the darkness that encased the African American lawyer.

"Joanne, you here?"

It was a familiar voice. A gentle, soft, masculine voice that caused both a sense of alarm and calm to wash over her. That voice was always calming, except when the owner was mad. But right now, it was curious and soft and warm.

"Jo? Your office said you didn't come in…"

The voice was fading some, heading away from her. He wasn't supposed to be there. Nobody was supposed to come and check on her, she wasn't supposed to be found yet! Especially by him.

"Joanne?!"

The voice was more panicked now, almost sensing that something wasn't right in these walls. Doors were being opened loudly and it was only a matter of time until the one that led to her was reached. Until he saw her in her pathetic state.

"JOANNE!"

The door to her room flew open and a light from several rooms away spilled into the dark room. Her back was to the door, slumped against a chair. There she sat, unmoving. Maybe, if she tried really hard, he wouldn't see her and go away…

Warm hands pressed up against her face, gently patting her cheeks as the floor creaked, dashing her half hopes and signaling the fact that he was now crouching in front of her.

"C'mon Jo, don't do this. Open your eyes."

He was pleading now. She knew that if she were to do as he asked she'd see him in the pale light, pasty skin paler than usual with worry, his lips two colorless tight lines as he pinched them together to prevent him from chewing on them nervously, his vibrant blue eyes wide and scared (but hiding that emotion) behind his black frames. She didn't have to open her eyes to know what she'd see.

"JOANNE! Wake up!"

He was shaking her now, his voice angry and strangely quiet but loud. Her eyelids half slid open in surprise and shock at how he sounded. She had been right, she noted. Mark was crouched in front of her; pale, tight lipped, wide eyed and angry.

"What did you take?"

The words were sounding farther away now. Her hand involuntarily released the bottle she had been clutching so tightly before as soon as his warm hand encompassed hers. She couldn't remember the name of the pills anymore. Anti-depressants of some sort. Her eyes drooped as his focused on the label and name. She didn't care. All she knew was that she was tired and her stomach was hurting. Then, warmth enveloped her, strong arms lifting her up. For such a scrawny looking guy, he was sort of strong. Then again, she hadn't eaten in a while.

"Stay…me. Hang…Jo…c'mon…."

He was talking again as the chilly New York air hit her exposed arms and legs. All she wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up. However, the constant jostling and shaking delayed that. The cold air suddenly vanished even though his arms remained around her body, cradling her to him tightly.

"….hospital…help…fast!"

He was getting farther away, reality finally slipping away, but she knew. She knew that they'd get to the hospital in record time (she lived six or so blocks away, there was no doubt that the cabby would rush and get there as soon as he could…customers dying in the back seat is bad for business). At the hospital, they'd rush her to ICU and pump her stomach, get everything out of her system and pump her full of 'life saving drugs.' However, this wasn't what she wanted. Nobody was supposed to have come. Mark had found her too soon! Ever since Maureen left her, she'd been alone. So, why had he come _today_ of all days?  
And with that final thought, Joanne floated away to nothingness. The last thing she was aware of was the feel of Mark's arms around her body tightening as if he'd keep here there with his strength alone.

-------------------

"…sorry. I-we…my fault…"

Those words flitted across her consciousness several times before registering. It was that familiar voice again. The man who had found her. Mark. Mark Cohen.

"…should've called…Maureen's here….stupid."

More words, but these one stung. She had done something to end up somewhere that wasn't home and smelled too clean (Sterile…a hospital? Yes, that's where Mark had demanded that she be taken) because of this Maureen woman.

"You really scared the hell out of m-us, Jo."

A full sentence. She had survived. A warm pressure was on her hand, vaguely reminiscent of the arms that had gripped her tightly however long before. Mark was still relying on physical contact to reassure himself that she had survived, she was still there and not like however many others he had seen that…weren't.

"But Joanne, we all just want to know….why?"

The pressure lessened then disappeared, the chair screeching as it slid across the linoleum as he stood up.

"Be…because…" her voice was raspy and weak. She heard Mark freeze and knew that his head had whipped around to look at her in shock. This lawyer _knew_ this man. Instead of opening her eyes to look at a reaction that she already knew about, she focused on speaking her piece. "You have those days where everything goes wrong and nothing goes your way. But the next day is always better. For me, those days last six months. Things were just…I…" she coughed slightly here, stumbling over what her drugged mind was trying to say. "It was too hard," she finally managed, sighing softly. Mark sat back down, grasping her hand firmly in his own.

"I'm sorry Jo," he whispered to her, knowingly. "I'm so sorry."


	5. Twister

**_Ereganto:_** Hey guys! I know that I haven't been doing much post wise lately, and I apologize. I've been toying with these for a while (mostly over my winter break), instead of doing my Bones story of oneshots (...curse you evil plot bunnies for escaping me when I need you most!) So, I hope that you enjoyed Chapter four, and that you will enjoy chapter five! These are still two unrelated events, even though they contain the same characters. OH! And, I have been working on a full length story...it's just coming along _unbelievably_ slowly. But keep your eyes peeled for it! And as always, ENJOY!

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They lay in a tangled heap, panting heavily and sweating.

"Wow Jo, I never knew you were that flexible," a blonde haired man exclaimed breathlessly as he lay sprawled on his back. Joanne Jefferson laughed a breathy laugh.

"Yeah well, I'm kind of surprised that you could go so long Mark," she replied as she tried to sit up. "Oh, I'm going to be sore tomorrow…" she grumbled and crawled over to the man she was speaking to, who still hadn't moved.

"I'm so tired," he groaned pathetically. "I'm not used to that much exercise."

"Oh, poor Mark, all out of shape," the lawyer teased as she allowed her limbs to give out and she flopped, none to gracefully, next to him on the floor. Mark merely stuck his tongue out in retort. Laughing, the young woman accidentally snorted, causing the filmmaker to chuckle.

"Oh c'mon, it was only one round! Maureen told me that you could go for hours!"

"It was two and a half and Maureen's a liar."

"…True, but she used to _brag_ about how great her Mark was at this."

"Brag? About me…? Was she drunk," his blonde eyebrows had risen in amazement. Joanne turned her head to lock eyes with her friend, laughter and amusement dancing in her own brown orbs.

"Yes, but that's beside the point!"

"Really," Mark snorted at this, "then what is the point?"

Joanne giggled now, her grin bursting into a giant, radiant smile that lit up her whole face.

"That you really are a scrawny Jewish boy!" she laughed. It was at this point in time that Roger burst into the room with a bewildered look upon his face.

"WHAT are you two _doing?!_" he demanded as he stared at the sight of two full grown adults sprawled out on the floor in mussed clothes. The two glanced at each other, grins huge and pointed to a box that was thrown to one side, depicting several children contorted in several different and strange positions.

"Playing Twister!"


End file.
